


Heal Me ('Cos I'm Addicted To Love)

by auroreanrave



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Clubbing, Hand Jobs, In Public, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Rutting, Scenting, Sensory Overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek can't help but cure the way Stiles smells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heal Me ('Cos I'm Addicted To Love)

**Author's Note:**

> Pure PWP. Title comes from the song 'Manicure', by Lady Gaga.

The club is just a sea of grinding, thrusting, gyrating bodies by the time Derek enters.  


He doesn't like clubs like this, the smells assault his already-sensitive nose too much and the music usually isn't to his taste, but the lure is too strong, too sweet, to resist.  


Derek can spot Stiles out on the floor and begins to move through the mass of bodies. He feels the weight of assessing gazes - both female and male - on his shoulders before they drift back to their respective partners. He doesn't mind the looks, but he's a one-guy kind of guy.  


Stiles is dancing, all lanky gracelessness turned fluid and lithe and supple with the aid of alcohol and pop music, his head tilted back and face to the ceiling. Derek can't wait to get his hands on him.  


The smell of other people on Stiles' skin assaults Derek's nose like a blow to the face. A hand on Stiles' wrist, one on his neck, the imprints are still there, and it _hurts_ Derek.  


"Who are they?" Derek says into the nape of Stiles' neck, a low rumble behind Stiles. He can feel Stiles' smile, his long fingers sliding behind to grab the belt loops of Derek's jeans, tugging him in closer.  


"I was waiting for you." Stiles says, blissed out. Derek slides a large hand, warm and proprietary, across Stiles' belly, pushing up his shirt to find the smooth skin there.  


" _Who. Are. They_." It's not even a question.  


"Just guys. Wanted to buy me a drink. Nothing more. You _know_ I wouldn't do that." Stiles says, hips undulating to the beat of the song.  


And Derek knows that, he really does, but still - it _burns_ at him to know someone else, someone not _pack_ , and he's caught between wanting to carry Stiles away and _fuck_ him within an inch of his life, or find everyone who's touched him and _tear_ them into strips like beef jerky.  


He settles for the former and slides his hand past the band of Stiles' underwear and takes Stiles' cock in his hand. The neon lights are bright upon them, and Derek can hear the beats of the music thrumming through him as they dance in the middle of the dancefloor.  


Stiles keens and arches into the touch as Derek begins to bring him off with slow, measured strokes.  


"Dere - someone might _see_ \- oh _fuck, God_ \- "  


"Not if you don't give the game away. _Relax_." Derek can feel the wolf calm down already, the aching hunger inside of him transforming from a desperate, aching, possessive need into something calmer, steadier, yet no less hungry. He know he alone can do this to Stiles and that Stiles alone can do this to him. His mate.  


Stiles' head drops back onto Derek's shoulder, all soft whines and half-broken gasps that are pushing Derek dangerously towards fucking Stiles right here in the middle of the club for all to see, for all the men who've touched Stiles to see and know who Stiles belongs to.  


Derek pulls it back and settles for biting into the juncture of Stiles' throat, pale column of flesh yielding under Derek's ministrations. The scent of Stiles fills his nose, all crisp evergreen and warm cinnamon and soft vanilla right underneath, and it erases the smell of the others from Derek's nose. _Good_.  


Derek's slowly rutting against Stiles, his cock fat and thick and insistent against Stiles' ass, and it's almost torturous for Derek too. He feels intoxicated, lost in the sounds and smells and the feel of Stiles' hands on him, one on his wrist and one curled around the nape of Derek's nape, grounding him.  


Stiles' cock is heavy in Derek's palm as he picks up the pace and Stiles fucks into Derek's hand, snapping forward until he finally cries out, his voice lost in the sound of bass and dance beats, and come fills Derek's hand and Stiles' underwear in sticky pulses.  


Derek comes moments later, rutting hard against Stiles' ass, and _finally_ he feels at peace, the wolf sated and happy. A quick glance around confirms that they're not being watched. He thinks he sees a guy averting his gaze quickly and suspects that he was one of the men who bought Stiles a drink.  


He's _more_ than happy for him to watch. Derek turns Stiles around, supporting Stiles' shaky legs with a hand on Stiles' hip. Stiles keeps the hand on Derek's nape and his hips undulate to the beat for a moment before he looks up at Derek, whisky-coloured eyes all blown with lust.

"I think we got away with it." Stiles says, shaky and smiling.  


Derek grins wolfishly and kisses Stiles for anyone who cares to watch.


End file.
